


like real people do

by questionableatbest



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dorms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6611194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionableatbest/pseuds/questionableatbest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is bright and shiny and determined to change the entire world. Grantaire is drunk more often than not, and going nowhere fast. Eponine is trying to change that. Courfeyrac is falling head over heels for a poet, and Jehan is fighting a few battles of their own. Marius and Cosette are in love, and everybody else is working on that. Combeferre is patient with everybody, while Feuilly is exasperated with the lot of them.</p><p>OR</p><p>Les Amis all live on the same floor of their residence in first year university, and general shenanigans and heart break ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. showers and elevators

Simply put, Grantaire was currently aware of three things: that there was nothing more uncomfortable than being in a cold shower fully dressed, that he was, without a doubt, not cut out for university, and that Eponine was either an angel or the devil, and that there was absolutely no in between.

When he tried to relay that last bit of information to the girl in question, who was currently curled up in a ball in the shower stall across from him, she snorted, but didn't look up from her phone.

Eponine had a way of taking everything in stride, and it was something that Grantaire greatly admired. Because of that, he was also not entirely surprised when he heard the bathroom door open and she didn't startle at all, even though they were definitely in the men's room.

For his part, Grantaire's mind was far too foggy for him to care. He heard the door open and he registered the sound of footsteps on the tile floor, and he could tell when whoever it was stopped walking, but still, Grantaire didn't care.

After a long moment of silence, Eponine was the one to speak. "Problem?"

"It seems like you should be asking your friend that," a familiar voice drawled back, alarmed and judgemental but not interesting enough to capture Grantaire's attention, so he kept his eyes closed and ignored the scrutinizing gaze he felt on him. "Is he drunk?"

"Pretty much."

"It's a Tuesday."

"And?"

"It's six in the morning."

"And?"

Grantaire snorted at Eponine's no-nonsense approach to whatever dickwad she was talking to, realizing too late that, in doing so, he'd interrupted their back and forth. Because of that, he decided to put an end to it once and for all, and put a stop to the poor boy's misery.

Once he opened his eyes it took a long moment for his head to stop spinning and, when it did, he found himself shaking it again, taking in the person in front of him and not being able to stop his mouth from falling slightly agape. Blonde hair framed a gorgeous face, balanced on top of a beautifully toned body that was only partially covered by a towel wrapped loosely around his hips.

While he'd definitely seen him around once or twice before, Grantaire had a tendency to keep his head down and ignore the vast majority of society. Of course, if he'd known that somebody who looked like this was living in close proximity, he may have had cause to change that approach, and he may have actually shown up to the dorm sanctioned events he'd been skipping.

Still, after a moment of unabashed and slightly hazy staring, Grantaire realized just how creepy he was being and, once again, tried to shake his drunk self out of it. When he looked back up he realized that the stranger was staring back at him, though his look was clouded with nothing but disgust which, to be honest, seemed fair.

But Grantaire had never been one to take judgement easily, so he raised his eyebrows. "You're also looking to shower at six in the morning. I really don't see a difference between the two of us," he said, slightly impressed with how composed he sounded.

"Trust me when I say, all I see are differences." His voice was harsh, and Grantaire couldn't help but curl into himself. "For example, I'm sober, and you're wearing clothing, in a shower."

"Well," Grantaire smirked before he could stop himself, "I can think two very simple solutions to both of those problems."

"I-" the man started, his forehead furrowed and his posture tightening, as a faint blush crept up his neck and Grantaire's hand twitched for a paintbrush.

Luckily, before he could say or do anything else stupid, Eponine interrupted. "Alright," the girl said, pushing herself into a standing position and crossing the room in record time, "As much fun as this pissing contest is, R was done here anyways. Carry on, golden boy."

Grantaire had long since learned that what Ep said was law, so he let the girl help him stand with little protest. Still, he made sure that he did most of the walking towards the door by himself, and he couldn't stop himself from turning back one last time, only to find that the boy was still glowering at him. Grantaire did the only logical thing that his hazy mind could think of and winked, before Ep ushered him out of the room.

And, of course, there was virtually nothing that could get past Ep, so Grantaire wasn't at all surprised when she rounded on him half way down the hall, with an amused smirk on her face.

"You've got solutions, have you?"

"Oh, fuck off. He was-"

"Just your type and absolutely gorgeous? I know."

Rather than replying, Grantaire elbowed the girl lightly, and decided to focus his attention on walking in a straight line back to his room, where he knew a canvas was waiting for him.

He'd always felt vaguely uncomfortable with the idea of painting people without their consent, but that did nothing to stop him from mindfully mixing the exact shade of red that the other boys blush had been, and using it to create something else entirely which was how, a few hours later, he found himself staring at something that looked like a battlefield washed over in blood.

/

Some people have projects. Others just have hobbies, and a couple don't have anything at all. The thing that kept Eponine from being in the third group, was people.

By and large she didn't trust the majority of the human race, but the two exceptions to that rule are what kept her going, if only because without her, she was sure that they would stop functioning within a matter of hours.

When it came to Gavroche she knew that she didn't have a choice; he was her brother, and their parents were shit, and he deserved the best. At 17, there wasn't much that Eponine could actually do for the boy, but that didn't stop her from dedicating all of her time and energy into making sure that the ten year old had her, and all of her love, and a far better childhood than she could have hoped for.

Grantaire was a completely different story. He'd been her neighbour for as long as she could remember, and she'd believed in him for just as long, even if he was completely and utterly determined to not believe in himself. She figured that she had enough belief for the both of them, and all of her efforts had proven her right when he'd received the arts scholarship that she'd forced him to apply for.

Of course, in true 'tortured artist' style, he'd done everything in his power to get out of the whole thing.

And sure, the school was filled with posh, elitist bastards, and it was only across town from where they'd grown up, and maybe you really couldn't do anything with an art degree, but that did not mean that R got to throw the whole thing away, even if it meant that Eponine spent every single night dragging the boy home from bars to get him ready for class in the morning.

She already had to wake, feed, and send Gav to school; what difference did one more make?

Sure, she was late for school constantly and absent more often than not, but her final year of high school was more of a formality; she had virtually no prospects in terms of post-secondary education and, even if being on campus with R made her wish otherwise, that wasn't changing any time soon.

All of that was running through her head as she stumbled out of R's room, having deposited him in his bed and sent an apologetic smile in the direction of his surprisingly-understanding roommate, and subsequently ran straight into a set of gangly limbs held together by a thin torso.

She swore as she felt herself topple to the ground, but the gangly limbs caught her before she reached it and she found herself still standing a moment later, staring into a pair of incredibly earnest eyes.

"Are you alright?" the boy asked, and Eponine realized that she'd been silent for a moment too long.

"Yeah, fine- I'm- so sorry." She wasn't normally one to stutter on words and she hardly ever got nervous, but something about this boy was different, she decided.

"It's not a problem- you're sure you're alright?" he asked again, and this time she couldn't help but laugh it off. He was sweet, and that threw her off at first, but this was nothing that she couldn't handle.

"Of course I am; there's nothing like a brush with death to wake you up in the morning," she said lightly, watching it dawn on him that she was joking. When it did he smiled, and she felt her heart flutter. Rather than swooning, she stuck out a hand. "I'm Eponine."

"Marius Pontmercy." His handshake was warm and inviting and Eponine was furiously trying not to blush. Luckily, his next question brought her back to the real world. "Is this your dorm?"

"Oh, no- it's my friends'. I was just- checking on him," she finished lamely, knowing that a detailed description of what she'd been doing would come off as even stranger. Luckily, Marius accepted her vague response with a nod.

"Are you in a different residence?"

"No, I live… off campus," she supplied after a moment, not entirely lying. She did live off campus. And across town, in the area that required pepper spray and the ability to run if you stayed out after dark. And with her parents.

Of course he didn't realize any of that, and that was fine by her. Instead he smiled, briefly placed a hand on her shoulder, and said, "Well then, I hope I see you around, Eponine," before he turned and walked away.

And Eponine new better than to read into those words, she did, but that didn't stop her from biting her lip and thinking that maybe having one person in her life who she didn't have to take care of wouldn't be such a terrible thing, and that maybe somebody like Marius Pontmercy would fit that roll perfectly.

/

During the first week they'd spent at school, Jehan had completed eight poems.

The first they'd mentally crafted when they saw the masses of students milling about outside of the residences on moving day, trying to figure out where their new homes would be and who they'd be sharing them with.

The second was about their parents leaving, and the third was about keeping in touch with people.

The fourth was about their new roommate, with his gruff looks, untrusting gaze, and harsh laugh and how, despite the pessimism that he reeked of, he emitted an air of kindness that was unexpectedly beautiful. Something in Grantaire seemed to connect with Jehan on an almost spiritual level, and it had caused immense relief, seeing as how they were stuck together for the next two semesters, whether they liked it or not.

The fifth poem was inspired by the group of three boys on their floor, who seemed to be more in synch than humanly possible. Enjolras and Courfeyrac and Combeferre, who apparently knew each other from high school and went hand in hand, and who managed to walk like an odd assortment of gods.

The sixth was about lust, and had definitely not been inspired by one of said boys.

The seventh was about Eponine- the only person they'd seen Grantaire interact with, besides themself, in the few days that they'd known him. The girl was alive- almost aggressively so, as if she was defying the entire universe just by breathing, and Jehan would have been ashamed to call themself a poet if they hadn't at least tried to capture her spirit on paper.

The eighth was, once again, inspired by Grantaire, and had been penned when Jehan woke up abysmally early one morning to see the boy already at work, wearing paint covered clothing and looking fiercely dazed, clutching a paint brush in one hand and a bottle in the other.

That had become some sort routine of theirs since then, with Grantaire focusing on his art and Jehan on their writing, and a sense of mutual respect and comradery flowing between them. And if Grantaire seemed a bit too drunk, or if he'd only made it to bed a few hours prior, or if Eponine was curled up in a ball at the foot of his bed, then Jehan didn't say anything.

Of course, silence couldn't always be the strategy. Jehan had a strong suspicion that, if it weren't for Eponine's encouragement, Grantaire wouldn't go to class at all, so on the days when Eponine was nowhere to be found, they took it as their responsibility to prompt their roommate out of bed, and today seemed to be one of those days.

"You've got class in the Arts building at ten, right?" they asked, smiling sheepishly when Grantaire jumped about a foot in the air. It took a moment, but they got a dazed nod as an eventual response. "Great! I do too, so we can talk together. It we leave soon, we can stop at the coffee place across the street!"

Grantaire looked ready to protest, so Jehan got out of bed, grabbed their tooth brush and paste, and headed for the door before he had a chance to. When they got back a few minutes later they were pleased to see that, while he hadn't changed out of his paint-streaked clothing, Grantaire was out of bed, with a bag in one hand and a pair of sun glasses balanced on his face.

Jehan took that as a victory, and grabbed their own bag and headed back for the door, making idle conversation that Grantaire eventually joined in on.

/

Despite his hesitance about university, and the dull throbbing of alcohol still dancing in his brain, Grantaire found that he could never truly be irritated with Jehan. There was something about the kid that was just too damn likable. They'd won over Eponine in a heartbeat, and that was definitely saying something.

Unfortunately, that appreciation did not extend to the rest of the people at the school and, in particular, in the art department.

The only one who Grantaire could truly tolerate was Fantine; the ridiculously generous professor who'd practically thrown a scholarship at him, with Eponine's full encouragement.

Of course, he didn't have a class with her until next semester and, as a result, was stuck with the stuffy academics who probably hadn't held a paint brush since the turn of the century. There was something to be said for art history, Grantaire would be the first to admit, but none of his professor's seemed to be able to say it, and so Grantaire found that most of his classes were spent doodling in the back.

He was an art student, he told himself; he was there to draw, anyways.

Still, sitting in the class and listening to other students participate and every single person get every single analysis wrong was enough to put him on edge. He never actually spoke up- he didn't care enough to correct them- but his foot was tapping against the floor and his pencils strokes were heavier than he normally liked, and by the time he was finished his third class of the day he was ready for a drink.

He was on his way to the campus bar when he got a text from Eponine that stopped him in his tracks. 'i got called into work tonight- can you watch Gav for a few hours?' Grantaire replied without a second thought ('sure') and only realized a moment later that it drastically altered his plans for the night. Ep confirmed that a few moments later with another message ('I'll drop him off after school- thank you so much') and, with that, Grantaire resigned himself to spending the evening sober.

Still, his hands were twitching and there was an irritating itch in the back of his mind that he couldn't get rid of, and the voices carrying out across the courtyard were grating at his mind. There was only one thing in life that came close to calming him as much as drinking did, so Grantaire headed for the gym without a second thought.

/

Courfeyrac considered himself to be a social being; he loved people and people loved him, and he preferred to be around them whenever possible. As a result, he had taken to spending most of his free time in the dorm common room on his floor, and that was what he'd taken to telling people, whenever they asked why he was there.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the English major with braided hair and a penchant for floral clothing had a tendency to poke their head in and say 'hi' frequently, though that definitely didn't hurt.

And if, because of that, he always got a little bit too excited when the door opened, then so be it.

Of course, that also meant that, when the door opened and, rather than Jehan, a ten year old boy and a frazzled teenage girl walked in, he was sufficiently disappointed.

And then he was just confused.

The girl had a phone to her ear and a furious look on her face, while the boy merely took in his surroundings, shrugged, and then threw himself onto the couch. After a few moments, Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow, more out of curiousity than anything.

"Can I help you with something?"

The boy didn't take his eyes off the television, but did he nod towards it. "What are they doing?"

"They've got to make something out of the mystery ingredients in the basket; this time it's fish, gummy worms, and cereal."

"Gross," the boy said, his voice dripping with appreciation, before he turned to the girl, who was still holding the phone and looking furious. "You can go to work. I'll wait here."

The girls glare didn't waver. "Not a chance."

The boy shrugged and turned back to the TV, while Courfeyrac's gaze lingered on the girl and, after a moment, he took pity on her. "Are you looking for somebody?"

"Yes."

"Is it somebody I would know?"

After a short lived stare-off, she let out a sigh and seemed to decide that her hostility was unnecessary. "Grantaire? About yay tall, brown hair, doesn't shave enough, probably smells like an open bar and looks like he's drank one…"

The description seemed harsh, but it did ring a bell. "Jehan's roommate, yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, before she narrowed her eyes into something that looked strangely hopeful. "Have you seen him?"

Courfeyrac shook his head, and all hints of hope vanished, so he did what any decent person would do. "I can watch him until Grantaire gets here, if you want?" she looked skeptical, which seemed reasonable, so he continued. "I'm not a serial killer, I swear. You can ask my roommate if you want- Marius? He's about yay tall, kind of awkward looking in a lost puppy sort of way…?"

She seemed to perk up at mention of Marius, before she glanced at her phone, bit her lip, and let out a sigh. "Fine. Grantaire should be here any minute anyways- I just really need to get to work."

"So go," the boy groaned, earning him a withering glare from the girl.

"As for you," she started, her voice harsh in a way that still managed to seem kind, "Listen to-" she cut off and turned to Courfeyrac, "Sorry, what was your name?"

"Courfeyrac."

"Listen to Courfeyrac. And when R gets here listen to him. And for god's sake, do your homework, okay?" she spoke with a harshness that was clearly lost on the boy, who merely waved his hands dismissively, before she turned back to Courfeyrac with a slightly more relaxed expression. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," he replied with a wave, and then the girl was gone and he was left alone with a ten year old boy, who he turned to. "Hey, you got a name?"

"Gavroche. It means 'street urchin.'"

"And that was?" he asked, deciding to ignore the fun fact and nodding towards the door instead.

"Eponine. Her name's from some book that our mom read."

"She's your sister?"

"Do you always ask this many questions?"

Courfeyrac let out a laugh, thoroughly amused by the kids' frank attitude. It got him a smile, before they both turned back to the TV, though an idea was already forming in Courfeyrac's mind, brought on by Gavroche's interest in the show.

/

Feuilly knew next to nothing about being an RA, but he was pretty sure that punching one of his residences in the face and leaving him with a black eye was frowned upon, no matter how hard Grantaire had laughed at the whole thing.

"Look, we were boxing," Grantaire said, for what seemed like the millionth time. "Shit happens. It's fine."

Feuilly believed him, he really did, but that didn't mean that he was letting the kid walk around with what could very easily be a concussion. "Joly will be here any minute. Would you just sit still?"

"I'm fine. And I've got to go."

"You should have thought about that before you challenged me."

"I didn't think you'd fucking deck me!"

"Well I thought you actually know what you were doing."

"I do!"

Feuilly couldn't argue with that; the kid was good- he just wasn't as good as the six foot giant, Bahorel, who he was used to sparring with. Luckily, Joly came rushing in with his usual briefcase-turned-first aid kit in hand, and Feuilly got to smile triumphantly.

"I told you he'd be here soon."

Grantaire smiled and rolled his eyes, but the action made him flinch which, naturally, Joly noticed, and glared and Feuilly.

"You. Again?" Feuilly shrugged, Grantaire snorted, and Joly got to work, pulling out a tiny flashlight and grabbing the kids' face with a gentle proficiency. Grantaire pursed his lips but didn't protest, letting Joly's examination continue. It only lasted a few moments, before he dropped the light. "You're probably fine. Ice for a few days, though."

While Grantaire hadn't looked particularly concerned to begin with, he seemed surprised by the diagnosis. "Probably?"

Joly shrugged. "I'm a med student. If you want a professional opinion, go find a doctor."

"'Probably fine' it is."

"Well then," Joly finished with yet another shrug, before he grinned at Feuilly. "Chetta will be pleased to know that you didn't kill him; it means she hasn't lost the bet yet."

"You lot are-"

"The worst friends you've ever had?" Joly interrupted wryly, "Yeah, we know." He then turned to Grantaire, nodding towards Feuilly in the process. "You know, he's just going this RA thing for the free rent, yeah?"

"And here I thought he was passionate about nurturing young souls," Grantaire said, deadpan, throwing Joly into a fit of laughter and getting a chuckle out of Feuilly, despite himself. The boy in question smiled and looked like he was going to say something else, before he glanced down at his phone and jumped up almost immediately. "Shit- I've got to go. Sorry to run- and thank, Joly. I'll see you guys later, alright?"

He was gone by the time the last word left his mouth, and Joly turned to Feuilly. "He seems alright- a bit old for a first year, though."

Feuilly had thought the same thing the first time he'd seen Grantaire, before he'd promptly decided that he wanted nothing to do with the personal lives of his residences and, therefore, didn't care. No matter how much he enjoyed boxing with the kid, and no matter how amusing some of the other kids on his floor were, that philosophy hadn't changed.

"Fuck if I know," he grunted, before he nodded towards the now-discarded boxing ring and raised his eyebrows at his friend. "You want to give it a go while you're here, Dr. Joly?"

The question got another loud laugh in return. "You want to deal with 'Chetta's wrath when you break my face?"

Feuilly let out a sigh, but knew to let his friend off the hook. "Probably not, then."

/

Enjolras understood the importance of first impressions; it was something that his parents had drilled into him from an early age, and it was one of the few things they'd taught him that he actually agreed with. Still, he could only act mindlessly polite for so long, before he reached his limit and, as it turned out, that limit was very easily reached.

As a result, he'd spent a good ten minutes of class trying to figure out why, exactly, his professor thought that being an 'anti-feminist' was something to be proud of. Of course, he hadn't gotten a good answer but he had gotten quite a few glares, and he'd continued the discussion after class to no avail.

He was now fuming, and it didn't help that the elevators in his dorm were possibly the slowest ones he'd ever encountered, and that he'd been waiting for at least three minutes when he finally heard the tell-tale 'ding' and the doors opened.

He got on, pressed the button and waited, but then, just before the doors could close completely, a hand was stuck between them and they opened again to reveal a disgruntled looking boy with a black eye who, after a moment of staring, Enjolras realized that he'd already seen once today.

For his part, the boy was also staring, not moving from his spot between the elevator doors, looking slightly dazed before a smile worked its way onto his face. "I remember you."

Enjolras felt his cheeks turn pink at the memory, but didn't dignify it with a response. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and, as he had a tendency to do, blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "What happened to your face?"

The boy's- didn't his friend call him R?- grin widened, and he leaned one hand against the elevator doors to keep them from closing on him. "Gee Apollo, I didn't know you cared."

Enjolras blanked. "What did you call me?" The boy smirked.

"Apollo?"

"Don't."

"Well then, is there something I should be calling you?"

"Enjolras."

"Enjolras," the boy said, rolling the word off of his tongue with a musical quality to his voice that only made Enjolras's glare intensify. "Hm. It suits you, Apollo."

Enjolras had a response on the tip of his tongue, but was interrupted by a high pitched beeping noise, reminding him that he was on an elevator and that the doors desperately wanted to close. Therefore, rather than saying anything, he simply raised his eyebrows at R and stepped aside, allowing him access into the elevator.

They stood side by side in silence, and Enjolras briefly thought that maybe their conversation was over. That barely lasted until the doors finally closed and R leaned against the elevator wall, crossing his arms and unabashedly staring at Enjolras, who fumed under the gaze but refused to say anything.

Of course, R broke the silence before long. "So, Apollo, what's got you all worked up today?"

"I- excuse me?"

"Don't tell me you're always this pleasant."

"It's none of your business," Enjolras snapped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw R's eyebrows raise and, for some reason, that felt like a personal attack. "Besides, I'm not the one with the black eye. Let me guess; bar fight?"

Everything about R seemed to tense up, but it didn't last long enough for Enjolras to actually regret the jab. Instead, barely half a second passed, before R's grin was back. "No, not this time, Apollo. But hey, if you get to guess about my injury, than I get to guess about-" he broke off to vaguely gesture towards Enjolras with a single, pointed finger, "This. So, let's see… Did a barista mess up your organic, fair-trade, no foam, soy latte?"

Enjolras balked at the mocking tone. "Do you have something against fair trade?"

Grantaire let out a bark of laughter, though Enjolras didn't see what was so funny. "Is that what you're taking from this?" R asked incredulously and then, before Enjolras could get a reply in, the elevator came to a stop, the doors opened, and R walked through them, shaking his head the whole time. "You've got to sort out your priorities, Apollo."

/

Combeferre wasn't sure if it was attachment issues, or abandonment issues, or just plain co-dependency that had kept him, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras together throughout elementary school, high school, and now university, and he's long since stopped trying to explain it.

Without Enj and Courf, Combeferre knew that his life would be a bore, and without Combeferre and Enj, there's a solid chance that Courf would be dead by now, and without Courf and Combeferre, there was no doubt in anybody's mind that Enjolras would have been beat up more times than anybody could logically keep track of.

As a result of their history, there wasn't much that could surprise Combeferre anymore. Still, when he stepped off the elevator and opened the common room door, he had to raise an eyebrow at what he saw.

Smoke was everywhere, something smelt genuinely terrible, and Courf was spooning something orange and semi-solid onto a plate of half-hard pasta, while a ten year old boy yelled at him to hurry up.

It was a few moments later when an alarm went off, drawing Combeferre's attention towards Grantaire- a guy he'd met briefly a few days ago, who currently looked half-amused, and half-terrified. When Combeferre caught his eye, he shrugged. "Chopped."

"Chopped?"

Courf and the kid beamed. "Chopped."

Combeferre took another look at the plates they'd assembled, and decided that he wasn't sticking around for that. "Right. Is Enj around?"

"He's probably in your room," Grantaire supplied, surprising everybody else in the room. "What? I met him on the elevator."

"Yeah, where do you think he got the black eye?" Courf jumped in, his voice a touch too serious to actually be believable. He laughed a moment later, confirming that, and Grantaire joined in with a knowing chuckle that got another eyebrow raise from Combeferre.

A few minutes later, Enjolras startled when Combeferre entered their shared room, but he didn't look up until Combeferre crossed the room and unceremoniously dumped a plate of goop-covered pasta onto his desk.

"Do I want to know what that is?"

"Courf adopted a ten year old, and now they're learning to cook. Grantaire wanted you to have this."

Enjolras' eyebrows furrowed. "Grantaire?"

"Said you guys met in the elevator?"

"Oh."

"Hm?"

"It's nothing. He's- nothing." Seeing Enjolras flustered was something incredibly rare, and Combeferre knew better than to press it. Instead, he headed for his desk and pulled out his own computer and, as usual, a short while later, Enjolras started ranting about something about anti-feminists, all thoughts of Grantaire gone from his mind.


	2. a little party never killed nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hear you’re a fan of inappropriate intoxication and inebriation?”
> 
> Grantaire looked affronted for about half a second, his eyes flickering back to Enjolras, who was determinedly looking away, before turned to Courf and shrugged. “The more inappropriate the better.”
> 
> That got a snort from Combeferre, while Courfeyrac simply beamed. “Perfect. I’ll drink to that- or at least I will tonight, when we throw the best party that this building as ever seen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: it is literally impossible for me to write something about a party and not name it 'a little party never killed nobody.'
> 
> literally impossible.

The first week of university came and went, and Saturday morning found Courfeyrac itching for something exciting to happen, though there were absolutely no signs that it would.

He was sprawled across a couch in the common room, while Combeferre and Enjolras were sitting at the table in the corner, the later with a newspaper and the former reading articles on his computer, occasionally sharing stories with the other, like two old men. Courfeyrac, on the other hand, was on his phone, half of his attention directed towards Candy Crush and the other half focused on finding a way to make their lives more interesting, when an idea came to him that was so obvious it almost hurt.

“We are having a party.” He sat up and brought his feet to the ground, disappointed to see that his friends hadn’t even looked up at the declaration. He was considering what he should throw at them to force their attention, when the door opened and Grantaire walked in, looking absolutely terrible and startling when he realized that he wasn’t alone in the room.

“Morning,” he muttered, not really looking at anybody, and then walked straight into the kitchen.

Ferre shrugged and turned back to his paper, Enj was sitting up straighter but he did the same after a moment, and Courfeyrac was left waiting for something to happen again. He gave up eventually and turned the television on, settling for re-runs of Say Yes to the Dress, which got a glare from Enjolras because, “ _This show is the definition of mindless capitalism and consumerism and that’s without mentioning the institution of marriage which is-“_

“A beautiful thing?” Grantaire interrupted Enjolras’ spiel, surprising everybody when he wandered out of the kitchen, looking slightly more alive, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a wry grin on his face.

“Exactly!” Courfeyrac cried out in glee, at the same time that Enjolras said, “Flawed.”

Grantaire’s grin only widened at Courf’s response, before he turned it towards Enjolras. “Come on Apollo, what’s wrong with two people making their love official?”

It seemed that the only person who hadn’t grown used to Grantaire teasing Enjolras was Enjolras himself, because he glowered and took the bait. “Everything. The whole idea of it is based in antiquated and misogynistic ideals of what a relationship should be, and the amount of people that are excluded from those ideals is astounding.”

Grantaire shook his head, mockingly slowly. “And you call me a cynic?”

“That’s because you-”

Combeferre coughed loudly, and Courfeyrac was pretty sure that it was accompanied by a kick under the table, because Enjolras took the hint and cut himself off.

For his part, Courfeyrac looked from R to Enj with far too much excitement because really, watching Grantaire irritate Enjolras with only a few words was far too amusing. Still, when it came to ending conversations, almost everybody would agree that Ferre knew best, so Courfeyrac let the rest of it slide, until he saw that Grantaire was moving towards the door, and cried out for him to stop.

“I hear you’re a fan of inappropriate intoxication and inebriation?”

Grantaire looked affronted for about half a second, his eyes flickering back to Enjolras, who was determinedly looking away, before he shrugged. “The more inappropriate the better.”

That got a snort from Combeferre, while Courfeyrac simply beamed. “Perfect. I’ll drink to that- or at least I will tonight, when we throw the best party that this building as ever seen.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up at that but if Courfeyrac was right, and he normally was about these things, the man looked intrigued. His eyes flashed to Enj and Ferre for a moment, before they landed back on Courfeyrac. “You guys are throwing a party?”

“Well, I am,” Courfeyrac amended, casting dramatic looks in the direction of his two friends before he continued with a conspiratory wink, “These two have no sense of adventure, but once we get a few drinks in them they’ll be dancing on the tables with the rest of us.”

If Grantaire’s smirk hadn’t been amused before, it definitely was now, and this time there was no doubt that his comments were being directed towards Enjolras, who was absolutely glowering. “Mr. Perfect, dancing on a table? Now that, I’ve got to see.”

“It was one time,” Enjolras all but growled, though Courfeyrac and Ferre were far too used to the tone to be scared and, if anything, it only seemed to feed the delight on Grantaire’s face, which Courfeyrac couldn’t help but find interesting.

Apparently, Grantaire felt the same way. “Well then, here’s hoping there’ll be a second time,” he said, in the most thinly veiled attempt at flirting that Courfeyrac had ever seen.

And of course, it went right over Enjolras’ head.

“There won’t be.”

Grantaire didn’t seem deterred; he simply shrugged and turned back to Courfeyrac, who tried very hard to look like he hadn’t been watching their interaction as if it were a soap opera. “Mind if I invite Ep?”

“The more the merrier,” Courf said, before an idea popped into his mind. “But don’t tell Jehan, if you don’t mind. I’d like to do that.”

//

To say that living in campus dormitory’s was a change for Marius would have to be the understatement of the year.

Shared bathrooms, and shared bedrooms, and shared common areas were unheard of for most of his childhood, and if his Grandfather had bothered to drop him off on move in day, then they would have been appalled.

Still, this was his decision so he tried not to dwell on any of that and, instead, focused on the brighter sides, one of which was his roommate.

Courfeyrac had been a surprise at first; he was bubbly and energetic and had virtually no concept of boundaries, but there was an underlying kindness about him that Marius had noticed right away. He also talked a lot, which spared Marius from having to do the same and, as a result, lessened the opportunity that Marius had to embarrass himself.

Still, Courfeyrac couldn’t hold his hand through the entire university experience so, when the boy had come bounding back into their room that morning, announcing a party, Marius decided that he was going to go, and he was going to talk to people, and he was going to make at least one new friend.

He found that going to the party was the easiest part; he opened his door around nine o’clock and there were already people milling about the hallway, most of whom he didn’t recognize. He smiled at a few of them and made it to the common room without incident, and then he was surrounded by familiar faces.

Courfeyrac was there, sitting awfully close to the boy-  _person, he mentally hit himself_ \- who he’d been talking about all week, and there was the scary blonde guy and his friend with the glasses, both looking a tiny bit skeptical about the whole thing but with cups in their hand nonetheless, and then his eyes landed on the brown-haired girl he’d met earlier in the week- Eponine?- and she was smiling and waving him over, so he found himself in the empty seat beside her.

And then he said his hello’s and she held out a bottle in response, and Marius found himself searching for a response, before he sputtered out: “I don’t really- um- drink.”

Eponine looked surprised for a moment, before a small smile crossed her face. “Oh.”

“It’s not that I’m judging you or anything- I just- um-” he finished lamely, convinced that he’d personally offended everybody in the room in his attempt to do the exact opposite, when Grantaire simply shrugged and swiped the bottle from Eponine’s hand.

“More for us then,” he said, taking a long swig from the bottle, that Marius was sure must have burnt like crazy.

Eponine came alive again at that, smacking the boy on the back of his head. “Like you need any more to drink,” she admonished, before she sighed dramatically and turned to Marius with a wry smile on her face. “I swear to god, he drank his way through two of these last night alone.”

Marius thought she must have been joking because surely that would be enough to kill somebody, and Grantaire elbowed her lightly in protest, and Marius spent a moment looking between the two of them, trying to figure out what, exactly, their relationship was, when a beautifully delicate sound carried over the crass music and brought his attention towards the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

//

When it comes to surviving Courfeyrac’s parties, Enjolras and Combeferre had a thoroughly tested strategy that they stuck to; they found a couch, and they sat on it. The strategy had gotten them through the past four years of ridiculously extravagant high school parties, and Enjolras had no plans of wavering from it now that they were in university and, so far, it was working wonderfully.

Sure, the music was loud and obnoxious, and most of the people were drunk and obnoxious, and the beer he was drinking wasn’t exactly sitting well in his stomach, and Grantaire wouldn’t stop staring at him but, despite all of that, he was enjoying himself.

He was caught up on his readings, he’d discovered the schools queer resource center and their zine library, and he’d put the finishing touches on the letter to his Poli Sci prof, detailing exactly why feminism was, in fact, a legitimate political movement. He was currently discussing the letter with Combeferre and a small group of people that had gathered around him and he knew that maybe he was getting a little bit too into the discussion, when he was interrupted by an all-too familiar snort, and turned to see Grantaire staring at him.

And of course Grantaire didn’t look away like a normal person would so, after a few moments, Enjolras cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all.” Grantaire smirked and Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “Please, carry on.”

He knew that a lot of people in the room had been listening to him, but he hadn’t realized that Grantaire was one of them. Still, after another long glare, he did continue, turning back to Combeferre. “It’s just ridiculous to think that an academic, particularly in this field, is willing to discount an entire movement as-” Grantaire snorted again. “Are you sure I can’t help you with something?”

Grantaire grinned at the question, like he’d been waiting for it. “Tell me, Apollo, this professor is a man, yeah?”

Enjolras sighed. “Yes, but-”

“White?”

“Yes.”

“Straight and cis?”

“Well, I have no way of knowing either of those things so-”

“And you’re really surprised that he doesn’t believe in feminism?” Grantaire raised his eyebrows in a way that managed to be patronizing and Enjolras knew that he should let it go, but there was no way in hell that he was going to.

“There’s a difference between not believing in something and not acknowledging its existence at all,” he said pointedly, “You should know that, Grantaire. You don’t believe in anything, right?”

For some reason, Grantaire’s grin widened. “Just because I’m not talking about politically incorrect professors at a party, doesn’t mean I don’t believe in anything, Apollo.”

Enjolras really, really doubted that. “You disagree with everything I say.”

“Not believing what you believe in isn’t the same as not believing in anything at all.”

Either Grantaire was drunk (which seemed likely) or Enjolras had drank more than he’d thought (which also seemed likely), because that sentence made very little sense to him, so he opted to ignore it entirely. “You’re a nihilist,” he accused, with a bit more venom than necessary.

“More of a hedonist, I’d say,” Grantaire shot back, with a wry smile that was missing the joking trace it had previously held.

Beside him, Combeferre made a noise that sounded a lot like a warning, but Enjolras had never been very good at heeding those. “Either way, they’re both just kinder ways of pointing out cowardice.”

“And idealism points to naivety,” Grantaire said, lazily, drawing on one of the few arguments that Enjolras had no patience for so really he couldn’t be blamed when-

“You disgust me,” he snapped, and it seemed like the entire room fell silent in that moment.

Grantaire’s eyes widened and his jaw locked, and then he took a drink from the bottle in his hand. When he finished it, he tilted it towards Enjolras in a mock salute. “You don’t sugar coat things, do you Apollo?”

Enjolras had a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t get a chance to get it out, and that was probably a good thing. Instead, Grantaire stood up and, in one sweeping move, exited the room. For his part, Enjolras didn’t know where to look; he could predict the disappointment on Combeferre’s face, and Grantaire’s friend was shooting daggers in his direction, and nobody else seemed to know what to say, so he just took another drink as well.

//

Jehan had never been to a party quite like the one that Courfeyrac was throwing.

They hadn’t been particularly popular in high school, especially among the football team and the rest of the crowd who hosted said parties, so they’d tended to avoid them as a whole, out of self-preservation, mostly.

Because of that, when Courfeyrac, in all of his happy, bubbly glory, had shown up at Jehan’s door and personally invited them to the party, they’d been more excited than they wanted to admit. Of course, they’d been equally excited when, after less than an hour of mingling, Courfeyrac had appeared out of nowhere and whispered in Jehan’s ear, suggesting that they go somewhere private.

It was only when they got to Jehan’s room and the door shut behind them that Jehan realized what Courfeyrac might actually be expecting, but then-

“Yo, you like Harry Potter?” he asked, taking in the posters that Jehan had plastered to their walls, and continuing when Jehan nodded. “Books or movies?”

Jehan blushed, but beamed. “Both, obviously.”

“Good answer.” Courfeyrac’s grin was as dazzling as ever, and the conversation flowed easily from there and, even as they ended up cuddled together on the bed, it all remained perfectly innocent. Jehan was actually considering doing something to change that, when the door burst open and-

“Shit. I- shit. Fuck. Sorry, I’ll just-”

Jehan sat up out of concern, but Courfeyrac was the first to actually speak. “What’s up, R?” he asked, and Jehan sent him a small, grateful smile.

“Nothing- shit. Sorry for interrupting… this,” he said, gesturing towards the bed with a bottle that looked close to empty. “I’ll just…”

“Sit down and tell us what happened?” Jehan finished for him and, as if he were thinking the same thing, Courfeyrac shifted slightly on the bed to make room for Grantaire between them.

It took him a moment, and he did it with his head hung low, but eventually Grantaire moved across the room and flopped down between them. When he did, he grabbed a pillow and buried his face in it, and let out a long, muffled groan, that sounded like he was saying, “ _I’m the worst_.”

Jehan tutted. “You’re drunk,” they said, reaching one hand out to play with Grantaire’s unruly hair.

“I’m disgusting,” Grantaire countered, and this time Jehan let out a sharp breath.

“Stop that. You’re my friend, and nobody gets to talk about my friends like that.”

“Tell that to Enjolras,” Grantaire muttered, and this time Courfeyrac let out a long breath, before he sat up and looked at Jehan over Grantaire’s head, which was still buried in a pillow.

“Enjolras said that?” he asked carefully, and when the only reply Grantaire offered was another long groan, Courfeyrac stood up. “Right. I’ll be back.”

Jehan didn’t pretend to know what was going on. Instead, they watched the door swing shut behind Courfeyrac, before they scooted closer to Grantaire and continued to run their fingers through his hair. After a few moments, Grantaire rolled onto his back, so that he was looking up at Jehan.

“I’m sorry I ruined your date,” he muttered, sheepishly, and Jehan was quick to scold him on it.

“Please, it wasn’t a date. We were just talking.”

“Oh, really?”

This time Jehan blushed, and opted to change the topic. “Really. Now, do you want to tell me what happened with He Who Must Not Be Named?”

That, finally, got a laugh out of Grantaire, before he grabbed another pillow and squished it over his face. “I know you love Harry Potter, Prouvaire, but don’t you already know my opinions on the Dark Lord?”

Jehan tutted. “You’re right- I guess we’ll have to talk about your opinions on Enjolras instead.”

Grantaire groaned into the pillow. “Nope. Never mind. Voldemort it is.”

//

Bosseut loved parties; lots of people, drinking lots of alcohol, having lots of fun? Definitely his idea of a good time.

Because of that, when a girl he’d met in a gender studies class, Cosette, had texted him and asked him to be her wing man, he’d said yes in about half a second. Cosette was by far the sweetest person he’d ever met, and she also happened to be one of the few people that he’d actually talked to at university so far, and her invitation was flattering.

And then they’d gotten to the party and every guy who saw her all but threw themselves at her, and Bosseut had realized that she didn’t actually need a wingman at all, which he vocalized before he could stop himself.

She shrugged and smiled and explained that “these things are just more fun with friends,” and she’d been right. She was lovely and Bosseut was having fun, and then Marius had come along and introduced himself in a bumblingly endearing way and, unlike the rest of the guys at the party, he hadn’t been brushed off by Cosette. After a few minutes of conversation that he had to actively work to insert himself in, Bosseut decided to excuse himself.

“I’m going to grab another drink,” he said when the two lovebirds stopped talking long enough for him to get a word in, and he’d done just that. Of course, once he had a drink, he had to find something else to do.

Most of the people there were standing in pairs or groups, talking excitedly or dancing awkwardly, and Bosseut suddenly became very aware of just how few people he knew there. He was about to give up and head back to his newly appointed job as third wheel, when he saw another man standing alone, looking slightly uncomfortable and entirely endearing.

Bosseut walked towards him before he could stop himself, and when he stopped in front of him a moment later, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “So, come here often?”

The man looked startled for half a second, before a curious smile appeared on his face. “I didn’t realize that people actually used that line anymore.”

Bosseut knew his face was burning red, and the man’s scrutinizing gaze was not helping matters. “They don’t- or they shouldn’t- I don’t know why I just did, honestly, I should just leave and never talk to you again. I’ll change my name and move out of the state and-”

“Or,” the man cut across, a laugh etched in his features, “We could start again? I’m Joly.”

“Bosseut,” he replied, easily and gratefully, and he stuck out a hand to shake, though Joly only looked at it uncertainly and Bosseut retracted it a moment later. “Sorry- that was weirdly formal for a party. We could start again, again?”

A look of panic had crossed Joly’s face, but he shook his head and it seemed to fall away. “No, no- this one’s on me. I’ve got a thing about germs… Not that I think you’re unclean, of course, it’s just…”

“That’s probably smart,” Bosseut said, and decided not to push the topic. Instead, he changed it entirely after a moment of silence. “So, do you live here?”

Joly laughed again. “No, no- I haven’t lived in residence for a few years. My friend is the RA here,” he explained, “And when we found out that he was chaperoning a party, we decided that we couldn’t miss it.”

He had a nice smile and an even nicer laugh, Bosseut thought, though he scolded himself for it immediately. “We?” he asked instead, thinking that maybe it was a subtle was to find out if he was here with a partner and sure enough-

“My girlfriend and I- that’s her over there,” Joly said, pointing to a woman with dark skin who was dancing with a group in a room, “And our friend ‘Rel.” He pointed to the man she was dancing with. “‘Chetta and I are pretty sure that he’s got a thing for Feuilly- that’s the RA- but we’re not sure yet.”

Bosseut would be lying if he said that he wasn’t disappointed, but he shook it off as quickly as it hit him; Joly was still talking to him, and he was wonderfully kind and funny, and he would make a wonderful friend, and that was more than enough, so Bosseut smiled back and asked about the potential romance between ‘Rel and Feuilly.

//

A lot of things had happened all at the same time and normally Eponine would have been able to keep track of them, but she was half a bottle of whiskey in, and she’d long since passed that point.

First, Marius walked into the room and he’d been just as perfect as she’d remembered, and he didn’t drink. Who didn’t drink? It was far more endearing than it should have been, and it had gone to her head straight away.

And then Cosette had walked into the room, and Eponine had been too shocked to do anything at all because it had been at least ten years since she’d seen the girl, and she looked better than ever. She was gorgeous, and her smile was radiant, and Eponine could barely take her eyes off of her, so it didn’t even surprise her that Marius couldn’t either.

Before she knew it, Eponine was answering Marius’ questions. _“Her name’s Cosette – I have no idea what she’s studying – She’d be in her first year, I suppose – For god’s sake, just go ask her yourself, would you?”_

And he had, just in time for Eponine to tune into the fight that Grantaire was picking with the pretty boy blonde that he’d been mooning over. Of course, it didn’t give her enough time to actually stop the fight, and Grantaire was storming out before she could stop him, and then she was sitting alone.

For a moment, she leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes and bemoaned the fact that Grantaire had taken the whiskey, but she knew better than to actually go after him. Instead, she surveyed the room and realized that Marius and Cosette were now huddled in a corner, Courfeyrac, the pretty boy blonde, and the one with glasses were apparently arguing, and then Courfeyrac pushed his way back out of the room and, she realized, pretty boy blonde was following him and-

“Oh no,” Eponine said, pulling herself up and blocking the boys’ path. “You and Grantaire have talked enough for one day.”

The boy fumed. “That’s what I said,” he said, directing the comment towards his friends, who looked less than sympathetic.

“He’s just going to apologize,” glasses said, reasonably.

“Did I ask?” Eponine glared at him, but his calm expression didn’t waver and she turned back to the blonde, slightly unsettled. “Fine. Your funeral.”

The boy looked like he had a million things to say, but he just huffed and nodded his head and continued out of the room. Eponine was left glaring at nothing in particular, until glasses spoke up again.

“You’re Grantaire’s friend?” he asked and, despite the fact that she was vaguely annoyed with him, Eponine took it as invitation to join him on the couch. At the very least, he was a distraction from Marius and Cosette, whom she didn’t even want to think about at the moment.

Instead, she snorted. “Friend, keeper, life coach- take your pick,” she said, before she turned to face him and actually looked at him for the first time. He was cute, she decided, with dark features and huge glasses and a steady look in his eyes. Not exactly her type, but cute. She stuck out a hand. “Eponine.”

“Combeferre,” he replied, his handshake as steady as everything else about him, if not a little bit warmer than his voice.

Eponine nodded towards the nearly full cup he was holding, and raised an eyebrow. “Well, Combeferre, you going to finish that?”

//

Grantaire was convinced that he loved Jehan with every aspect of his being. However, the moment that Courfeyrac bounced back into the room, grabbed Jehan, and left, those feelings waned and, when Enjolras appeared in the doorway moments after that, the feelings disappeared entirely, and then Enjolras cleared his throat and-

Nothing.

He didn’t say a thing, but now he had Grantaire’s attention and the silence was getting more awkward by the second, until Grantaire couldn’t take it anymore.

“Can I help you, Apollo?”

Enjolras broke out of his trance then, and he looked away, with a faint blush growing on his cheeks. His eyes trained onto the walls behind Grantaire, and- “You like Harry Potter?”

“Everybody likes Harry Potter,” Grantaire said, surprised by the direction of the conversation, before he realized where it was coming from. “But those are Jehan’s posters.” He nodded towards the other side of the room, whose walls were bare. “That’s mine.”

“Oh.”

Enjolras turned to look at the blank walls, and Grantaire couldn’t help but wince at how sad they must have seemed. “Did you really come here to talk about my interior decorating, though? Because trust me when I say, Jehan’s beat you to that conversation.”

“I- no.”

But then silence fell again and Grantaire had never been good with those, so he continued rambling, despite his better judgement. “Besides, let me guess- you’ve got Karl Marx plastered onto your walls, right?”

“I-”

“Or wait- you’re super into feminism right now, yeah? So it’d be bell hooks and Audrey Lorde and a copy of The Feminine Mystique?”

“I- would that be so bad?”

Grantaire did a double take. “Wait, do you really?” he asked, eyes wide as he gaped at Enjolras for a moment, before his stony face gave way and the corner of his lip turned up in a smile, and Grantaire let out an abrupt bark of laughter.

Once he calmed down, he was surprised to see that, though Enjolras wasn’t smiling, he was looking at Grantaire in a way that he’d never seen before. “You know bell hooks and Audrey Lorde?” he asked, and Grantaire felt his breath catch in his chest.

A pit seemed to be growing in his stomach, which was probably why he sounded bitter when he said, “I do know how to read, you know.”

Enjolras looked taken aback. “I know that,” he said, defensive, “They aren’t exactly common names, is all.”

Grantaire felt his face turn red and he shrugged. “Right,” he muttered, and then: “Well I'm assuming that you aren't also here to talk about feminist theorists, so?” he asked, slightly antagonistic but thoroughly thrown off by the fact that Enjolras had made a joke and then had actually smiled at him and that, for half a second, it had felt like the most normal thing in the world.

For better or for worse, when he looked back up, Enjolras was back to looking uncertain. “I-” he started, running a hand through his hair and letting out a huff of air before- “I just wanted to apologize for what I said before.”

The words all came out at once and Grantaire had to blink a few times to make sure he’d heard the all properly. When he did, understanding washed over him. “Courfeyrac sent you.”

“And Combeferre.” Grantaire winced at the frankness of it and, apparently, that set something off in Enjolras. “But I meant it- I was wrong to say what I did and I – I really am sorry.”

As a whole, Grantaire didn’t consider himself to be particularly prideful. That being said, pity wasn’t something that he enjoyed, and he seemed to like it even less when it came from Enjolras. Because of that, he laughed, and ignored the affronted look on Enjolras’ face when he stood up and headed past him, straight for the door.

“Don’t worry about it, Apollo,” he said roughly, relief washing over him the second he stepped out of the room and started looking for another drink.

//

Realistically, Feuilly knew that he should have put a stop to the party long before it had even started, but that had seemed like a lot of work and truth be told, he didn’t care enough to actually do the work. The kids would end up partying anyways, so he figured that he was best off just letting it happen.

Of course, that was before they started spilling drinks everywhere, and hooking up in just about every spare corner, and filling the bathroom stalls with puke, and expecting Feuilly to deal with it.

Because of that, when he checked his phone, he was more than relieved by what he found there.

**(11:59 PM) Bahorel to The Best People You Know:**

_Guys._

_Guys._

_Guys._

_We should go to McDonalds._

**(12:01 AM) ‘Chetta to The Best People You Know:**

_MILKSHAKES YESSSSS_

**(12:02 AM) Bahorel to The Best People You know:**

_YESSSSS_

_WE WILL BRING ALL OF THE BOYS TO THE YARD_

_LET’S DO THIS_

**(12:17 AM) Feuilly to The Best People You Know:**

_You fuckers better not have left without me_

**(12:18 AM) ‘Chetta to The Best People You Know:**

_…_

**(12:18 AM) Joly to The Best People You Know:**

…

**(12:20 AM) Feuilly to The Best People You Know:**

_I thought you were my friends._

_I invited you into my home_

_I trusted you_

_I loved you_

_And this is the thanks I get?_

_Betrayal._

_Complete betrayal._

**(12:21 AM) Bahorel to The Best People You Know:**

_We’re waiting outside, drama queen_

**(12: 22 AM) Feuilly to The Best People You Know:**

_YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS I’M COMING_

**(12:22 AM) Bahorel to The Best People You Know:**

_Lol that’s what she said_

**(12: 23 AM) ‘Chetta to The Best People You Know:**

_DOLLAR IN THE DOUCHE BAG JAR._

**(12: 24 AM) Bahorel to The Best People You Know:**

_Worth it._

* **’Chetta changed the group name to ‘The Actual Worst People I Have Ever Met’** *

Feuilly took a moment to laugh at the exchange, before he made his escape, opting to take the stairs when he saw the massive group crowding around the elevator. Of course, in making that decision, he’d expected to run into more than a few couples making out in their sad attempt at privacy, so he was surprised when, instead of that, he opened the door to the stairwell and found Grantaire, sitting alone with a bottle in hand.

If it were anybody else, Feuilly told himself, he would have ignored them. However, Grantaire wasn’t anybody else; despite his better judgement, Feuilly liked the kid and seeing him sitting there alone and half-asleep drew at heart strings that Feuilly normally tried to ignore, so he made a spur of the moment decision and-

“You look like shit, man.”

Grantaire laughed. “That’s because I am shit.”

Feuilly scoffed at that, and grabbed the bottle from Grantaire’s hand. “Shit-faced, maybe. Did you drink this all?” Grantaire only shrugged. “Fucking hell. Have you ate anything lately?” Another shrug. “Fine. Let’s go then- McDonalds.”

Despite his half-hearted protest, Grantaire stood up wobbly, and started down the stairs with Feuilly. “I hate McDonalds.”

“So do I,” Feuilly admitted as they continued down the stairs, slowly, “But don’t mention that to ‘Rel or ‘Chetta. I’m pretty sure they’d both be willing to kill for less.”

By the time they made it down the stairs and to the front of the building, it had been a solid five minutes. Bahorel wasted no time in yelling at them for it, before Joly introduced them to his newfound friend- Bosseut something or other- and then they were off.

‘Chetta, Joly, and Bosseut lead the way, with Joly’s arm wrapped around ‘Chetta’s shoulders and Bosseut on his other side, getting along surprisingly easy with the couple, and Feuilly and Bahorel taking up the rear, with Grantaire between them, occasionally balancing himself on one of their shoulders. ‘Rel sent the occasional amused glance in Feuilly’s direction, and Feuilly was pretty sure that the other man saw through his displeased front.

It was when they’d finally made it to the McDonalds just off campus and were waiting for their orders to come through, that Feuilly’s phone started buzzing in his pocket. He checked it reluctantly, and saw the campus security number flashing on it.

“Fuck.” He glanced from his phone to the food, but he knew which one he had to prioritize. It was with a heavy heart that he turned away from the counter and the prospect of fries and answered his phone, and- “Hello?”

A voice in his ear rambled on about noise complaints and school alcohol regulations and policies, because they finished off by saying that this was only a warning, but that he’d ‘better get his act together and clean up his floor before the actual police were called.’ When they hung up, Feuilly turned around to see that Bahorel had retrieved his food for him, and he accepted it gratefully.

“Back to the party?” ‘Rel asked, and Feuilly sighed.

“You lot should probably just call it a night- I’ve actually got to do my job now, it seems.”

Joly and ‘Chetta opted to walk home and, in doing so, came to the conclusion that they could also drop Bosseut off at his place on the way. They said their goodbyes then, and Feuilly expected Bahorel to do so as well, so he was surprised when his friend just shrugged instead.

“Wrangling a bunch of first years could be fun,” he said, before he looped an arm around Grantaire’s waist and headed for the door, leaving Feuilly to follow behind with a small smile on his face.

//

**(Monday)**

***Feuilly created group message: ‘Floor 20 Official’***

***Feuilly added 20+ people to this message***

**(8:09 AM) Feuilly to Floor 20 Official:**

_Listen up you bag of rats, this is from my boss AKA the administration, AKA the people who are actually in charge:_

To the Residence of Floor 20,

It has come to our attention that the majority of you partook in a series of rambunctious activities on your floor this past weekend. While we support your autonomy and encourage you to make the most of your academic and social experience during your time at this school, we ask that you refrain from engaging in a repeat of these activities, particularly when illicit substances are involved. Failure to do so will result in disciplinary actions as deemed necessary.

Thank you,

Residence Head Office

***Courfeyrac changed the group name to: ‘Bag of Rats’***

***Feuilly changed the group name to: ‘Floor 20 Official’***

***Grantaire changed the group name to: ‘the official site of a series of rambunctious activities’***

***Feuilly changed the group name to: ‘Floor 20 Official’***

**(8:27 AM) Feuilly to Floor 20 Official:**

_Change it again and I evict you._

***Courfeyrac changed the group name to: ‘I just re-read my lease and I’m 99% sure that you don’t have the power to do that but on the off chance that you do, I’d just like to say that you are by far the best RA we could have asked for and that we all love and appreciate you somebody please back me up here’***

***Grantaire changed the group name to: ‘WE LOVE YOU FEUILLY’***

***Feuilly changed the group name to: ‘I’m not getting paid enough to deal with this shit’***

**(8:34 AM) Enjolras to I’m not getting paid enough to deal with this shit:**

_Guys, please stop with the notifications._

***Grantaire changed the group name to: ‘Sorry Apollo’***

***Feuilly changed the group name to: ‘Floor 20 Official’***

**(8:40 AM) Feuilly to Floor 20 Official:**

_I swear to god, guys._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO there you have it literally a 6000 word chapter focused solely on one party AKA something that absolutely nobody wanted, and yet here we are!
> 
> things will start picking up soon, i swear, but if you enjoyed this at all let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY based off of that chapter i know it seems like this story is going to be 100% grantairexenjolras and nothing else, but i promise that the other characters will be getting story lines of their own- they just needed to be introduced first, and this seemed like the best way to do it!
> 
> and PLEASE, if you liked this leave a comment- any and all are welcome! :)


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